


Not The Usual Love Story

by RussetMeng



Series: Live Writing Series [1]
Category: Mamamoo
Genre: F/F, F/M, Immortality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussetMeng/pseuds/RussetMeng
Summary: It's a little complicated when Immortals are involved...
Series: Live Writing Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2171079
Kudos: 2





	Not The Usual Love Story

Being an immortal is not the fun thing people make it out to be in books and movies.

It can be especially dull and boring if you force yourself to live in total solitude and in perpetual darkness.

Thankfully, I have someone that I love and cherish who can ease the pain and loneliness of being an immortal – I just have to find her. Again.

I believe that, even though my wife is mortal, she will always be reincarnated with her past memories sealed. Hence, it is my duty to find her and remind her of our love – no matter how many times it takes.

Even so, her lack of presence does not hold me back from living life to the fullest – the memories of her and our love are what keeps me going; they’re the source of my strength and the reason for my existence.

But sometimes at night, I indulge in the pain of missing her and the loneliness I feel without her by my side. I close my eyes and remember her fragrance that was akin to a budding rose; her luscious brown hair that looks good no matter how she wears it; her brown eyes that envelops me with warmth and love. And when the moon rises, blessing me with its radiance, I am once again reminded of the innate glow that my beloved wife possesses – beautiful and unearthly at the same time.

“Life is truly dreary without your presence here, my love,” I sigh at the moon, “I am impatient for the day we unite again.”

And that day is here at long last.

The morning sun shines brightly on this lovely summer day and I just know that today is the day that I will meet her again.

I stop by the flower vendor to buy a single rose before crossing the street to where they display various work of arts.

This side of the street is called Art Street – the place where every artist working on every type of art displays their art for potential buyers and admirer of arts.

My wife loves art and at every one of our reunions, I always find her admiring some artist’s work or just marveling at some beautiful sculptures.

That is why I know that I will meet her here.

_Ah. Right on cue._

I catch sight of her long brown locks hidden neatly beneath a sun bonnet, her back turned towards me as she admires a painter working on his painting. I quickly adjust my appearance and steel my nerves – as if I haven’t done this a million times – before approaching her.

“Hello, miss?”

She turns around, a little startled at my presence. “Yes?”

“A beautiful rose, for a beautiful lady.”

She looks at me and then at the rose. “Thank you,” she takes it and gives me a wary smile, “I usually don’t take flowers from strangers...”

“Don’t worry. It’s just a flower. I bought it from that lovely lady,” I gesture at the flower vendor across the street, “so rest assured, miss.”

Her smile relaxes and she smells the rose, inhaling deeply.

_This is it._

Every time I give her a rose and she smells it, she starts to remember her past life. It’s the key to unlock her memory – starting from the day we first met all those millennia ago.

She lifts her head and looks at me with those warm brown eyes that I have missed so much. “Thank you again for the rose, my love,” she drawls, her smile turning into an amused smirk, “now, shall we pick up where we left off?”

***

The first time it happened, it was pure accident.

I was out horse-riding when the horse suddenly sped up and I lost control of the mare. I fell off the horse and tumbled down a hill, breaking my neck in the process.

It was an instant death – I could tell as soon as the darkness sets in – but I woke up again, well and alive, not a moment later. It was a curse that I bear from the moment I was born to this world, but I had never shown this side of me to my beloved and I hoped that I never have to.

But someone saw my “death” and that someone had informed my beloved of it.

When I reached home, the servants kept screaming “ghost” and then wailed about my beloved being a ghost too – apparently, there was a hunting accident as soon as the news of my death reached my beloved.

I was simply astounded.

I had seen my beloved with worst injuries than an arrow to the head and lived. That was how I knew my beloved is as immortal as I am.

But I began to worry about the worst and hurried to the forest where the hunting accident was said to happen. All I saw was a disfigured body and a familiar scent that belonged to my beloved. I followed the scent and saw my beloved leaving the forest in an unmarked carriage.

_Why fake your death, love? I’m still here…right here._

It took me a while, but I finally understood.

Every 50 years, I would die a natural death and be reborn again as a newborn baby – like a baby Phoenix born again from the ashes of the old Phoenix. My beloved must have mistaken me for a mortal because of this wretched curse.

Now, everything that had happened between us finally made sense to me.

I never knew what my beloved did after my death, but we would always meet again in the same circumstances, exchanging the same words as we did when we first met all those millennia ago – as if re-enacting the same scene, reliving that first meeting over and over again.

“A beautiful rose, for a beautiful lady.”

I remembered that my beloved has a pure heart and a penchant for tragic love stories.

It was something I realized after I took a peek into my beloved’s journal and learned that my beloved believed I am a reincarnated version of myself with my past memories sealed – until I was given the fated rose and took a whiff of its perfumed scent.

It never stopped to amuse me how ironic and lovely that part of my beloved is.

But it didn’t matter – I enjoyed playing different versions of myself. The important part is that I will always be reunited with my beloved again and again – forever and always.

“Thank you for the lovely rose.”

With that sentence, I take a whiff of the rose and pretend to remember again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> This is the first product from my live writing session on Twitch.  
> I have also posted this on AFF, if anyone has read it before.
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> P.S. I also accept prompts to be used in the live writing session.


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